


George Gets His Revenge

by ThatOneWeirdWriter



Series: Dream Team and DreamNotFound One-Shots [9]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Brutal Murder, Character Death, Heartbreak, M/M, Major Character Injury, Murder, Total Drama: Revenge Of The Island, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27379855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneWeirdWriter/pseuds/ThatOneWeirdWriter
Summary: Dream hurt Wilbur, George wants blood.WARNING: There are depictions of graphic things in this story. If you are sensitive to needles, blood, torture, or heavy violence please proceed with CAUTION
Relationships: GeorgeNotFound & Wilbur Soot, GeorgeNotFound/Wilbur Soot
Series: Dream Team and DreamNotFound One-Shots [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862128
Comments: 5
Kudos: 84





	George Gets His Revenge

Snow crunched under the waterproof, black boots that George wore, snow fluttering down from the sky and gently hit the ground. George's nose was tinted red, as were his ears, but he was bundled up tightly in a thick winter's coat and warm pants. His googles rested over his eyes, allowing him to see the brightest of colors that are normally dull. His body shivered slightly as the wind blew harshly, blowing snow to the side and making the brown locks of George's hair blow as well.

He had plans to meet with someone today, someone who made his blood boil and a scowl strain on his face. He hoped Wilbur didn't worry about him, he had left L'manburg quite early in the morning but he still left out hot cocoa for everyone in the home before venturing out into the cold. No-one knew of his plans, not even Wilbur and he told everything to his lover. It pained his heart to know that Wilbur was in the dark about something so crucial but it was for the best, for he knew that Wilbur would try (and succeed) at convincing him to stay home and not do what he wanted to do on this winter day. 

The snowfall was getting harsher as time passed, but George couldn't bring himself to care, nothing mattered to George right now as he arrived at his destination. Gently he pushed the spruce door open, a gust of cold air and some snow blew in but the door sealed tightly behind him as he entered into the warmth of the cabin. Sitting calmly on the couch by the fireplace was a face George never wanted to see off of the battle field again, _Dream._ His blonde locks swayed with the cold gust of air, but his body stood stiff. His emerald eyes unmoving from the fire as George took of his coat and hung it up on the coat rack. 

A light blue long-sleeved shirt was underneath it, along with a lighter gray jacket. Finally Dream's eyes met with George's shielded ones, so much love and happiness was shown in the two emerald eyes. They were damp with tears as well as the taller male stood up, a soft smile adorning his lips as he neared the brit. George smiled back, but it was tighter, less emotion filled than Dream's. Gently Dream wrapped the boy in a warm hug and George scowled out of the taller males view. He slowly, so slowly pulled out a dart from his pocket, making it seem like he was just rubbing himself for warmth. 

Before Dream could even process what happened he was on the floor, unconscious. His body lay unmoving at George's feet, his staring eyes a mystery behind the black tinted googles. The dart had been pushed into Dreams back, pouring in the chloral hydrate and letting it run through the blondes bloodstream. George knelt beside him and laughed softly to himself, slowly he pulled his googles off and let them rest on his head. George's eyes held no guilt or remorse as he picked up the unconscious male and took him into a secluded part of the cabin. The cabin was pristine and tidy, nothing lay littered on the floors and all dust was gone from all the surfaces George's eyes fell apon. 

It was quite funny to George, Dream cleaning just for him. As if that would make George fall back into Dreams waiting arms and beg to be part of the Dream Team again. As if removing any remanence of dirt of dust away from George's vision would make him forget the look Wilbur gave him as he bleed out in Fundy's arms. As if cleaning dishes would wash away all the blood that had been shed on the battle field, all the blood George himself shed. As if sweeping the floors is equal to pushing all the anger that had been brewing inside George for months under a rug, never to be seen again. Well, Dream was sorely mistaken and George almost felt bad for the man. Key word being, _almost._

George couldn't forget the pained scream that ripped out of Wilbur's throat as Dream plunged that putrid knife into is stomach, or how Wilbur could barely hear a word George said to him as Fundy carried him. George couldn't forget how Fundy wept into George's arms or the terrified look Tommy gave him when he saw Wilbur's bloodied body. Yes, he would respawn but they all knew that the pain was still there, that even after coming back to life you still felt aches, it didn't erase the horror of watching a loved one die in your arms. George knew Dream had to pay. Pay with what you ask? Well, with his own blood of course. 

George made sure the ropes around Dream's wrists were tight, he didn't care if they hurt the blonde since George knew Dream would feel pain in ways no-one ever wants to. He want Dream to feel the pain he felt on the day the war was declared. That tearing apart feeling, knowing you lost more than you should have, to weep silent tears every time you dare look at a battlefield where the Dream Team had won. George let a soft smile grace his lips as he thought of all the pain Dream would feel in a matter of minutes, for it was only fair. 

It was fair because Dream hurt George day after day of that awful, _disgusting_ war. Oh, how George waited for this day to come, how he dreamed of the moment he could fulfil his gorgeous plan. A plan that he knew would make sure that the rest of the Dream Team would be scared for their lives if they ever hurt anyone in L'manburg. George unbuckled the utility belt from his waist and gently placed it on the table closest to the wall, many blades and sharp objects were concealed in thick layers of wool to not be seen by any passerby's. The brit carefully chose his first weapon as Dream awoke from his unconscious state, already alert and shock to find himself in a vulnerable position.

"You no-longer have the high ground here, Dream.."

George's calm and uncharacteristically low voice spoke from the stale, unmoving air of the room. a smile adorning the brown haired boy as he eyed Dream with hunger. Not the good kind of hunger but the hunger only blood could quench, and it made Dream shiver. None of this felt real to the male, this wasn't how George said the day would go nor how he seemed to want to hurt Dream. George was known for his constant smile and his goofy wits, his ability to stand up for what's right but never forcing his opinion on others. Again George's voice broke Dream out of his spiraling thoughts.

"Oh, I bet your confused on why this is happening. How cute.. You really don't understand!"

George's voice slowly tipped into insanity as he stared at the wall behind Dream. Visualizing Dream's blood painted on it as Wilbur's blood stained the oak tree on which he was pinned to. Dream quivered with fear as George got closer, a sharpened blade held tightly in his hand. A low chuckle arose from George as he neared the male, his eyes holding no remorse or care for what he was about to do. A smile similar to one that Dream had the day the mask broke crept its way onto George's features. 

"You hurt him, you hurt L'manburg, all for what? Your pride? You ego?"

George pushed the knife into Dreams cheek drawing a small amount of blood that dripped down to his cheek. Dream hissed at the pain and moved his head back on instinct, Dream's eyes brimmed with the smallest amount of moisture as George straightened his posture. Looking at the knife pleased, a few drops of blood had accumulated at the very edge of the blade. Still, George held no signs of guilt or remorse as he looked away from the knife and back at Dream. Dream's gen colored eyes were filled with fear as George analyzed him and his features. 

Before the blonde had time to think the blade struck his thigh, ripping threw his flesh and muscle. Blood gushed from the newly made wound as Dream screamed in pain, bursts of adrenalin pumped throughout his body as the knife drug it's way into his bone. With a sickening crack the bone broke, Dream could feel it snap and shatter like a baseball to glass. Sharp pain flooded the blonde as he screamed into the room, a call for someone to find him. Who was he kidding though? No-one would come for him, not in this part of the SMP. 

George erupted in laughter as he watched the crimson river flow to the floor with satisfying splashes. The blade stayed unmoving as George stood straight again, but this time he went back to the table to pick out a new weapon. Dream let the tears flow down his cheeks as he watched George, silently pleading with the man to let him go. Surely someone would notice his absents and call a meeting, with the war just now ending and things still tense it would be acceptable to do so. Dream then remembered how it was the waking hours of the morning, how no-one but a madman would go out in weather like todays and how it was to only get worse with time. George knew that though, George planned ahead.

"George.. please.. I-I'm sorry! I-I didn't mea-"

A slam. A crash. The weapons that were littering the table were now scattered across the concrete floor. George's arms were frozen from the swing, his chest rising and falling with heavy pants. His head turned quickly to look at the other male and in a flash was in front of him.

"YOU DIDN'T MEAN TOO?!!? YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO HURT THEM, HURT THEM ALL!??! tsk.. As if I would believe such a blatant lie." 

A fist made contact with Dream's face, making his vision fuzzy and black dots litter his vision for a moment. It felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him even though he was never hit in the chest. Heartbreak was a weird and ruthless thing, it tore threw Dream daily, and finally George is willing to be in the same room as him and it's ruined once again. If only Dream could turn back time, before the war, before everything.. he just wanted to see George happy. To see George smile around him, to be able to laugh with him once more.. like before.

A warm liquid dripped out of Dream's nose, flowing to his lips and down his chin before falling onto his lap. His tears had not stopped, dampening his face and irritating his freckled cheeks. George picked up a pouch, the outer material a cream color and the string holding it closed was a bright red. George delicately opened the pouch and pulled out a long, thin needle before looking at Dream with pure hatred. A flash of colors and the needle had been pierced into Dream's shoulder. Pain bloomed from that area but before he had time to plead George was behind him, examining his hands. A flashback erupted into Dream's mind.

\---

_The two boys were sitting on the beach, the cold water barely touching their bare feet before rushing away. The sand was warm and comforting as Dream laced his fingers through it, the war was at a halt, everyone needed a break from everything. Dream proposed a beach day for him and the brunette, the friendship between them tense from the stress of the war. At least... that's what Dream told himself daily._

_George lay unmoving next to him, the goggles shielding his eyes from the sun as he basked in its warmth. Dream wasn't going to say anything seeing as though he himself refused to take off his mask, George didn't seem to care. He never did these days, before the war George would have jokingly complained about it. It was so much easier back then, so much more peaceful. Dream wished those days would be in the near future, then the tensions at the base wouldn't be so high and George wouldn't be so distant._

_"George, do you think things will go back to the way they were?"_

_Dream saw the brunette tense beside him, though the emotion held within his eyes were a mystery. George never showed his eyes to the team, much how Dream never revealed his face. The shorter male exhaled a sigh as he sat up from his laying position to look longingly at the ocean. It's calming waves a comforting sight to both males, along with the warm sun and hot sand._

_  
"I- I'm not sure. The war is bad, of course, but there has to be some good in it as well. Some good that will come from it."_

_Dream pondered on what the male said, what good came from this war? The satisfaction of knowing Dream has won, the look of betrayal of the L'manburg people when Eret betrayed them? What good was there if not for the Dream Team, nothing good was there for L'manburg, Dream made sure of that._

_"I long for revenge Dream, I want to see those who hurt me and the ones I love suffer. Is that bad for me to wish for?"_

_George turned to Dream, something was lingering in his tone as he spoke. As if the person whom he hated and wanted revenge on was here, but no-one but the two of them were in sight. George didn't hate Dream, at least.. the taller male hoped it was that way. He hoped the feelings he felt for the brit were reciprocated, that George got the same fuzzy feelings Dream did when George looked at him._

_"No, hatred is natural. We're all human of course, emotions are normal as long as they're not taken to the extreme."_

_"But I want to hurt people. Cut them limb from limb, pull each and every one of their nails of, or poke them with hundreds of needles just so they feel a fraction of the pain I have felt."_

_Dream stayed quite as George ranted about how he felt, it was rare of him to do so. George tended to keep his emotions bottled up within until they would finally burst out in a flood of raw feelings. He hoped none of what George said was directed to him...._

_Oh, how **wrong** he was._

_\---_

Dream snapped back to reality as George placed heavy duty pliers on his grown out nail, Dream shook with fear. The taller male whispered plea after plea of George to not do what he was about to do, that he would rethink his burning hatred for everyone in the Dream Team and come back to them. It was no use as George began pulling, no, _ripping_ each nail off.

Dream's screams of pain rang throughout the room and through the whole house, a new flood of tears poured from Dream's eyes as George repeated the process for each and every nail. Until finally he was done and stood from his spot, seeming pleased with his work and happy with the screams of pain erupting from the taller male. Pain pulsed from Dream's fingers as he tried to catch his breath, tried to gather his thoughts, tried to figure out a way to make George stop this torture. 

The brit placed the pliers on the table and picked up the forgotten bag of needles, examining Dream's body before starting the process of placing each needle somewhere. Each needle gave Dream more and more pain, more and more agony, more of the longing of a respawn button. George was enjoying himself as each needle made Dream pull back in pain and almost angelic hiss come from the Americans mouth. George made sure to push extra hard on the males bleeding fingers which gave him another beautiful scream of pain in return. 

Once again George was satisfied with his work and stood back to admire the broken male in front of him. Tear streaks lining his freckled cheek bones, blood covering his clothes, and the light that usually shines so bright now dull in his eyes. George laughed to himself as he picked up Wilbur's hand crafted blade, it took weeks to make and Wilbur poured so much love into each and every detail on it. 

The knife was swung down on Dream over and over again, blood splattered the walls and formed a puddle underneath the chair Dream sat on. Wound after wound was opened as George used all his pent up rage and hatred for the male into each stab of the knife until he made the final blow. A swift swing of the blade against Dream's jugular had him gurgling and gasping for air as his life soon faded away, much to George's delight. 

Dream's lifeless body sat there for a moment before fizzling out in a cloud of white smoke, George kept his blade tight in his grasp as he watched the body disappear. The brit didn't bother to grab the other weapons as he left the room, his mission done and his soul satisfied. He walked down the preteen hallways, each footstep left another footprint of blood in it's wake, George smiling all the way to the living room.

He stared at the couch of a moment, reminiscing that a living man sat there just an hour earlier but now that same man was dead. He didn't ponder on the thought too long as he pulled his coat over his blood soaked shoulders and ventured out into the cold. His mind racing for one person whom lay in his bed, the person he did this all for.

 _Wilbur._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed this! I'm working on the requests, feel free to make anymore requests!


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